Well I guess technicaly hes a honorary dark knight. But the fact remains, Incognito is back and hes out for revenge.

After a long season and a half getting spent getting paid not to do any work, Im frankly suprised that Richie got hired by a NFL team instead of ACORN. While most folks are out there struggling to pay the bills, Richies some how convinced the Bills to pay him. Only in Obamas America folks. He inked a contract that will send him to Buffalo for a one-year deal and pay him up to like 2 millon dollars if he dosent do anything like miss time for injurys or drive a teamate to contemplate suicide.

Incognito also got a $900,000 non-guaranteed base salary, roster bonuses of $21,875 for each game that he’s on the 46-man active roster (which would total $350,000 if he plays all 16 games), and playing-time incentives that begin if he takes 60 percent of the Bills’ offensive snaps and max at $800,000 if he plays 75 percent of the snaps in 2015. Incognito can also get a $100,000 workout bonus.

But poltics aside, if theres any one who deserves a 9th chance to succeed in this league its Richie. After a season in which superstar RBs beat there fiances and children, all of a sudden hiring the guy who only threatened to sexualy assault someone seems like probably the best you can hope for. Compared to Adrian Peterson, Greag Hardy, Jonathan Dwyer, Ray Rice, Ray McDonald, Josh McNary, Junior Galette, and Aldon Smith, getting Incognito back into the NFL is a net win for the NFLs image problem. In fact you could make the argument that he will florish under the Bills system of a countability where if a player sends texts about running a train on a teamates family member it better be about Rex Ryans wife.

Im on record that Richies basicaly football version of “O’Doyle rules” and since Rex Ryan has publicaly said that the Bills want to “build a bully” I think they’ve got the first piece to there puzzle. In fact lets take a lookat old Rich’s Wikipedia page real quick here:

Im glad to see Richie come back. He has the most punchable face of any one in the NFL by far and the league is a more exiting place when hes in it thats a fact. Hes been called the dirtyest player in the NFL by his new teammate Marcell Dareus but Im sure those guys will straighten out there differences over a couple threatening voicemails. Between Rex Ryan and Richie all of a sudden a Buffalo Bills Hardknocks seems like it would be incredbly exciting television especally if they draft Jamis Winston and let Incognito tutor him on how to act like a pro.

Richie puts the “offensive” in “offensive lineman” and thats the kind of atitude you want in the trenches. Richie will hold, scrap, stomp, and swear his way into your head or your sisters pants. And while the former Dolphins, Rams, and Bills guard needs to completeley recreate his image if he wants to succeed in the NFL but if theres anyone whose capable its a guy whose name literaly means “Undercover Boss.”

In the tattoo, Ryan’s wife is wearing the #6 jersey of former Jets QB Mark Sanchez, but now that it’s a Bills jersey, the jersey would logically be that of Bills punter Colton Schmitt. Of course, the Bills are in dire need of a quarterback, and there’s a decent chance they’ll make a run at Jay Cutler in the offseason. If that happens Cutler will probably give Schmitt some money and perhaps a pamphlet about how vaccines cause autism in exchange for Schmitt’s number. For now, Schmitt can enjoy a brief moment of notoriety.

As for Ryan, there’s no word on whether his next tattoo will be the foot that comes down in Monty Python’s Flying Circus, or if he’ll make good on his high school promise, and have the cover of the Scorpions Virgin Killer tattooed across his entire back.

In the least surprising news of the day, everyone’s favorite brash and bawdy podiatric deviant Rex Ryan was fired, along with universally loathed Jets GM John Idzik. Considering that there were reports Rex had cleaned out his office and had already had one foot out the door, consider this your purely ceremonial opening to the most hateful day in the NFL year. The inevitable coaching change game is afoot, and we’d like to think that Rex has a leg up on the rest of the competition out there for open defensive coordinator spots – he’s led teams deep into the playoffs, and being able to focus solely on the defense means he can mold young sets of legs into a solid unit. I like to think he’d have a better time doing that than a commentating position, where he’d likely end up with his foot in his mouth more than once.

Idzik is probably the bigger move of the two, and the one that will cause Jets fans to celebrate. Despite only being with the team since 2013 and coming from a successful Seattle program, Idzik’s choice of Geno Smith in the draft combined with the perception that he was a business-first GM led fans to predictably start up websites and sell t-shirts begging for the firing. Idzik’s firing was not as sure a thing as Rex’s until late – with reports coming out a few weeks ago that he may stay on board to help find a new coach. The question is (and really always has been), who’s going to be able to step in and clean the giant festering mess that is New York Jets football?

By all accounts, Rex Ryan is on his way out of New York come the end of today’s game. In fact, he’s already cleaned out his office in preparation for the firing to come. So that won’t be a surprise. End of an era, for sure, but not a surprise. What probably was a surprise was when Rex’s agent received a call from the Jets about another candidate.

Per @JayGlazer, "somebody involved" in Jets coach search called Rex Ryan's agent about another candidate.

Well, that’s awkward. But what’s more fun is that Rex’s agent is coaching agent wizard Jimmy Sexton and that’s surely going to lead to rumors spreading like wildfire across college football message boards. The frenzy begins now!

Of course, Sexton represents so many coaches that he’d get a call from the Jets eventually, but have a heart, guys, let Rex coach one last game of futility for old time’s sake before you officially run him out the door.

The Chiefs are currently in the middle of obliterating the New England Patriots in front of a national audience. The score is 41-7, with 12 minutes left for the Chiefs to potentially make it worse. Tom Brady has been picked off twice. The first of those two picks was especially important, because it was the first interception by the Chiefs this year. That leaves just two teams without a single interception: the Saints and the Jets.

Or to put it another way: the two teams that the Ryan Brothers are involved with. The mighty defenses of Rex and Rob are hyped endlessly, but through four weeks, they represent the only two teams not to intercept a single pass. If it’s any consolation for Jets fans, Revis hasn’t exactly led the Pats to glory so far.

Geno Smith: [Runs fingers over words cut into the side of Shonn Greene's Empty Locker] “#6 was here?” Who carved that into my locker? Sanchez? Are you here?

Shonn Greene’s Empty Locker:

Geno Smith: Feels like just yesterday I was telling Nacho about consistency and stability right in front of this very locker. How we needed it and how it was going to help the two of us be better quarterbacks. Now Sanchez is gone and I’m sitting down here alone because coach doesn’t want me talking to the media today. Coach even said before it wasn’t a competition! What am I supposed to think now, Sanchez?

[Takes selfie in front of locker, posts to Instagram, "Look at what my man Geno is doing #JETSNATION! Decorating our locker room with pictures he drew himself! A puppy!"]

[Eric Decker's phone goes off.]

Mike Vick (@MikeVick) has favorited one of your Tweets!

Eric Decker: Son of a beeswax! Well, can’t block the quarterback on the old Tweeter. Bad for stats.

Geno Smith: Wait, Tweeter? I’m not even using my phone right now…

(Door flies open)

Rex Ryan: How the fuck you doin’ boys!

Geno Smith: Well, I was going to ask about…

Rex Ryan: Geno, I know. Let’s wait until Competition is done upstairs. We’ve got some important business to take care of first. GQ!

Eric Decker: Yes, sir?

Rex Ryan: Can you explain what you did wrong on this play?

Eric Decker: But that’s my Instagram of my wife…

Rex Ryan: I know what the garsh-dang thing this is, GQ. Hired you for looks, not your smarts. How the fuck did you get that hot wife of yours posed and in some cute little pom-footied socks and then go and cut off her toes? What do you need to do to fix this route?

Geno Smith: I thought Decker did great when I threw to him on the outside…

Rex Ryan: So did I, Mr. Vincent fucking-van Gogh. Wouldn’t have called him our go-to guy if I didn’t mean it. But that’s not GQ’s problem. GQ, what did you do wrong here?

Eric Decker: Well, it is a little out of focus. And the baby should be the center of the photo and not her watch for framing…

Rex Ryan: And if you had moved the camera a little to the left what would have happened to the framing?

Eric Decker: AH! I see it! Too much dead space on the right and I would have gotten all of Jessica in the shot, down to her very tip toes! Those little pom socks are too adorable to be left out of the frame!

Rex Ryan: THAT’S IT GQ! NOW YOU SEE IT. I’M PROUD OF YOU AND YOUR WIFE’S COMMITMENT TO HEEL ENHANCEMENT, ACHILLES KNEW WHERE THE SWEET SPOT WAS FOR THOSE LITTLE POM-POMS. Next time you see your wife in those little poms, you get down nice and tight and put one of those poms in your teeth and pull. I want to see the FIGHT in your eyes as you rip them off her, you hear me GQ?

Eric Decker: Okay… [Tweets, "HEY JESS I LOVE YOU, COACH SAYS I NEED TO GET INTO A FIGHTING MOOD. BREAK OUT THE FUZZY POMS. #JETSNATION"]

Mike Vick (@MikeVick) has favorited one of your Tweets!

Eric Decker: Son of a beeswax!

(Door wafts open)

Michael Vick: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Rex Ryan: Competition! Glad to see you finally wrapped with those god-dang, slap-dicks at Newsday. Did you tell them your new nickname here in New York? Because I cannot abide by that Kimberly Martin telling the world what we’re doing and what we’re not doing here at the Meadowlands. That’s right, I’ll call a woman a slap-dick. They want in the locker room, they can be a slap-dick like the rest of them. Not on the team? Automatic slap-dick.

Via Bart Hubbuch comes a much-needed reminder that not all NFL social media coverage is terrible. It’s always a very special day when we here at KSK get confirmation that the kharacters we create for our favorite NFL personalities actually line up pretty well with who they actually are. So, without further ado, here’s a picture of the notorious Ryan brothers at a Hooters, posing with waitresses. Just a reminder that though there is ugliness on the internet, and though sometimes, sports coverage can be terrible, there are reasons we follow this sport. And this picture is one of them.

Somewhere in the catacombs of a downtown New Orleans law firm, the city’s foremost old white men gather to drink scotch, remember the days before women were so mouthy, and to assign various Mardi Gras grand marshal duties to celebrities and dignitaries.

Rob Ryan: SO WHAT DOES A BROTHER GOTTA DO TO BE THAT FANCY GUY AT THE HEAD OF A MARDI GRAS PARADE? I BET YOU GET ALL THE BEST VIEWS OF THEM BOOBS OUT THERE.

Old White Man #4: Not just *anyone* can be a grand mar-

ROB RYAN: NOW, LOOK HERE, SON. YOU LET DREW DO IT A FEW TIMES. AND I KNOW YOU ALWAYS GET SOMEONE FROM THE SAINTS TO DO IT. WHY NOT ME? BEHOLD MY GLORIOUS, LUSCIOUS LOCKS! MY MANE IS SAID TO BE AN APHRODISIAC IN 12 DIFFERENT NFC CITIES.

Old White Man #2: We do not care for the trifles of Phoenix-

ROB RYAN: HEY, IF YOU WANT TO CUT OUT THE BIGGEST CHICK-MAGNET YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE IN THIS THING, BE MY GUEST. BUT I’M A MAN OF THE PEOPLE, YOU SEE. AND THE PEOPLE WANT THEIR ROB AND HIS MANE.

Old White Man #1: I’m sorry, Coach Ryan but there are rules…

ROB RYAN: TIT.

Old White Man #4: Coach, Drew was an upstanding citizen of the community-

ROB RYAN: EES.

Old White Man #2: This kind of behavior for Mardi Gras is abhorrent. The rules…

ROB RYAN: AW, COME ON, GUYS! ALL THOSE LADIES NEED MY FINGER GUNS! THEY NEED THOSE BEADS! THEY NEED HIS ROYAL DUDENESS!! I WILL MAKE YOUR PARADE CLASSY WITH A CAPITAL ‘ASSY’!

Old White Man #3: Gentlemen, a word?

Old White Men huddle.

Old White Man #3: [whispering] I think I have a plan. There are, what, 200 parades during the entire run of Mardi Gras, right? And he doesn’t really know any better, right? We can shove him off on one of the smaller ones!

Old White Man #6: Or, better yet, one in the suburbs!

Old White Men mumble in agreement.

Old White Man #3: Then it’s settled: we’ll dump him in Metairie with the strip malls.

Jets owner Woody Johnson announced after his team’s 20-7 victory over the Dolphins that head coach Rex Ryan would be welcome back in 2014, meaning the NFL’s loudest and most cherished personality has preemptively survived tomorrow’s Black Monday onslaught.

While the decision was made public following the game, apparently Rex was informed of his fate beforehand:

Rex Ryan said he was told by team owner Woody Johnson and GM John Idzik before today's game that he was coming back in 2014 as head coach.

Oh, to be a fly on the ripped out pages of Penthouse plastered on the wall of that locker room. I wonder how it went down?

Woody: Rex, I’m thrilled to finally put an end this charade. We’d love to have you back next season.

Rex: NO SHIT YOU WOULD PENCIL DICK. BUT WHO’S THIS CHARADE? A STRIPPER? SOUNDS LIKE A GAL I’D LIKE TO PUT AN END TO IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. HAVE HER MEET ME AND MY MEN HERE AFTER THE GAME, DIRTY FEET AND ALL. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE!

Anyway, Rex will be back next year, and those of us here at KSK are certainly grateful. Oh, what’s that Mr. Johnson? You’ve got something else you’d like to say?

‘Twas the night before Christmas, somewhere in New York
Not an owner was stirring, but in bed like a dork;
The stockings were hung underneath vaulted ceilings,
Empty like my heart, devoid of all feelings;

The players were nestled all snug in their condos,
Hopefully sleeping, and not sexting randos;
And mamma in her Versace, and I in my cap,
The Johnson’s had settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a rumble,
“COME OUT HERE YOU FUCK FACE,” I could hear the man mumble.
Away to the window I threw on my glasses,
Tore open the shutters and saw bare human asses.

The moon on the crest of a man’s naked buttocks
A Santa belt resting on the ground by his Chucks,
Then, he turned, and his face did appear,
For it was Rex, sans pants, with a twelve-pack of beer,

In a rusty old van, like you see on the news,
His wife was driving, not wearing her shoes.
More rapid than the Eagles, his players they came,
And he barked, and grumbled, and called them by name;

“Now, NACHO! now, WINSLOW! now, IVORY and GENO!
On, MANGOLD! on BILAL! on, HOLMES even you CRO!
Four take the back! And four rush the wall!
Use your vision! Break away! He can’t shoot us all!”

The wheels met the pavement, and the van sped away,
A band full of misfits was headed my way,
Their eyes filled with rage, and nothing to lose,
I lost sight of their captain, who’d snuck off with his booze.

And then, with a thud, I heard on the roof
The stumbling and bumbling of each drunken hoof.
As I drew in my phone, and dialed the cops,
Down the chimney St. Rex came, all covered in hops.

He was dressed like Santa, best I could tell,
But his pants were still missing, and he smelled like straight hell;
A bottle of scotch he had flung on his back,
And a bundle of mistletoe was covering his sac.

His eyes — how they glazed! unshaven he was!
Several days, probably, he’d been cultivating this buzz!
His mouth was ajar, for he’d something to say,
“THE FUCK YOU LOOKING AT? WHAT ARE YOU? GAY?”;

The end of a joint fell down from his teeth,
And set fire to mother’s prized Christmas wreath;
He pulled up his shirt, and exposed a round belly,
And shook it around, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a drunken old coot,
And demanded I fork over, next season’s loot;
“Nay,” I told him, “A contract you’ve signed”,
“If you want a buyout, you’ll have to resign”;

He spoke not a word, just scratched on his head,
I couldn’t understand, how this man wasn’t dead
Then he gave me the finger, on my dog he did spit
And giving a nod, said “FUCK IT. I QUIT.”;

He sprang to his van, and lined up the shooters,
And away they all flew down the street to a Hooters.
Then a door flew open, and he yelled from the back,
“MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL, LET’S GO EAT A GODDAMN SNACK!”